


This Thing Between Us

by Thea_Bromine



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_Bromine/pseuds/Thea_Bromine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles takes his clothes off. Slowly. Really slowly. Several days slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Slowest Striptease In The World

It had been the slowest striptease in the world, ever. _Ever_. Xander was fairly certain that continental drift happened faster than that. But hey, here was what he had been thinking about for three days: naked Giles. Naked _Giles_. _Naked_ Giles. Absolutely stark bollock naked Giles. Xander had thought about that, day-dreamed about it, out-and-out fantasised about it, and now he was looking at it, and the only thought in his head was ‘God, Giles is _hung!’_

The three foot sword in Giles’ hand wasn’t helping any with that, either.

The house was... well, Xander was the one who knew all the technical construction terms, and the technical construction term for this one was _dump._ He didn’t think anything was holding it up except habit. He’d poked at a couple of door and window frames, and shuddered; the wiring was plain terrifying; the plumbing he simply didn’t understand, plumbing being something he only had minimal experience of anyway. He’d opened his mouth to say as much, and then he’d taken a proper look at Giles, and thought better of it. Giles looked exhausted and Xander had suddenly thought that he couldn’t remember the last time Giles _hadn’t_ looked exhausted. Giles had looked exhausted for months, possibly, Xander thought, because Giles had _been_ exhausted for months. Giles had fought and planned and fought some more, and then Giles had taken charge of moving them all about the country and finding them somewhere to live and deciding what they were going to do and how they were going to do it and how they were going to pay for it, and that last was almost certainly the one which was giving Giles sleepless nights. So saying that the house wasn’t fit for them to live in wasn’t going to help: Giles already knew that. It was the house they’d got, it was the one they could afford, and it was the one that Xander was going to _make_ fit for them to live in.

Somehow.

He’d started by throwing everybody but himself and Giles out, he himself because he was going to fix the house, and Giles because he had access to whatever funds they had. The rest of them had scattered to cheap boarding houses and hostels for homeless runaways and charity overnighters and wherever space could be found for them. He’d felt a bit bad about the fact that he and Giles had proper bedrooms, until the first night when he’d gone to bed, pushing the door closed behind him. There had been an odd sound, and Xander had turned in time to see the door tear itself off its hinges and fall slowly and inexorably outwards and down the stairs. Giles had shot out of the bathroom onto the landing above, alerted by the noise, and when Xander had looked up, he’d found Giles shaking with laughter, and holding out the door handle which had come away in his hand. It was now established that the use of that bathroom (the only one in which the toilet could be persuaded to flush _every_ time) was to be accompanied by loud singing from the user, to prevent either of them walking in on the other.

And now Xander was going to fix the house, and he wasn’t whining to Giles that he didn’t know how to do it, because fairly obviously, Xander knew more at least than Giles did. He’d borrowed Giles’ pen – how come even when the guy had no jacket and was dressed entirely from Goodwill, he could still produce a decent metal pen from somewhere? No cheap plastic ballpoint for the G-man – and in the absence of a clipboard and pad, the first To Do list had been written on the back of a pizza box. He had a folder now, also from a thrift store, and his lists had sub-lists of their own, marked as _essential_ or _important_ or _would be nice_.

Then he’d started on the _essentials_.

Giles had come with him the first day, when he had a massive shopping list. He’d babbled, in the first store, about money, about knowing that Giles wanted him not to spend anything unless he absolutely had to, but he honestly wasn’t happy about cutting corners on safety kit... and Giles had just shrugged.

“Quite. Don’t. Tell me what we need. You’re in charge here.”

And whoa, that was weird. He’d done a massive double-take, and Giles had shrugged again. “Xander, I have no idea what we need to do, nor what materials we need to do it with. I have no intention of trying to take control of it. You know we’re short of money; I know you’ve prioritised the work. You tell me what needs to be bought, and what needs to be hired, and I’ll write the cheques. Then you tell me what you want me to do.”

He’d swallowed and moved on, completely... completely he didn’t know what. Terrified by the responsibility. Suddenly he was budget manager and project manager and site boss as well as construction guy? Sideswiped by Giles’ trust. He was telling Giles ‘we need to spend this much buying one of these’ and Giles was just pulling out the credit card and, and, and _buying_ one? On nothing more than Xander's say-so?

He’d insisted on good quality rigger gloves and proper work boots for both of them, and had felt a bit better about it when Giles had pointed out that the boots would double as protective footwear for patrol. The rest of the safety gear... he’d actually spent time thinking ‘what are we going to do?’ and ‘is that the only way to do it?’ and then he’d picked out what they _had_ to have, no question, and tried not to allow himself to feel guilty about what it cost.

“It’s not an economy if you get hurt and can’t Watch,” he said hesitantly, while they were waiting in the line, and Giles had just looked at him, and nodded, as if Xander had said something completely self-evident.

After that they’d gone home and he’d wigged completely when he’d suddenly realised that Giles was _serious_ , that Xander was running the show and Giles was waiting to be told what to do. And then he was doing it, no argument.

Xander would hire Giles for his building site any time, and that was despite the fact that the man knew _nothing_. He couldn’t even pass the tools Xander wanted because Giles didn’t know what anything was for, or what it was called, or if he did know, he called it by some different English name. But he was a quick learner: there wasn’t much he needed to be told twice, and even if most of his half of the work was ‘lift this’ and ‘hold that’, Xander could have given thanks on his knees for Giles, because the Big Guy lifted and held and didn’t drop things, or shift away. If Xander told him to hold something so that Xander could line up the bolts, Giles held it, and held it still. If he needed to put it down, he gave Xander thirty seconds warning, and didn’t just let go. And after one go-round establishing that when Xander said ‘an inch to the right’, he meant _his_ right, not Giles’ right, Giles never once moved the wrong way. He even _looked_ right; Xander had seen guys on construction sites who had worked there for years and who still looked like they had just arrived. Giles...

Giles was wearing the same clothes as Xander himself, and it had made Xander's brain skip, because everybody knew that Giles wore tweed, and everything buttoned up, and a collar and tie, despite the fact that Giles hadn’t actually dressed like that since Xander couldn’t remember when. And now Giles was wearing thrift store denim, and a thrift store tee and a loose shirt over the top, and boots, all very suitable for an unskilled construction worker, and all Xander could think was how good he looked in it. Giles had always been fit, in its literal definition; he’d been strong enough to hit tentacled things with an axe when they’d tried to break into his library. And once Xander had started noticing the good-looking boys around the place as well as the good-looking girls, he’d become aware that if you liked that sort of thing, Giles might well qualify as hot.

Not, of course, that Xander _did_ like that sort of thing. At least, theoretically he _could_ , and there _might_ have been a night or two when the shadowy figure in his mind curling a hand around his cock had a decided English accent, but... Xander was perfectly well aware that Giles thought that Xander was an idiot. And even once Xander decided that yeah, Giles wasn’t totally straight, he wasn’t dumb enough to set himself up for that sort of disaster. Xander and relationships generally was not of the good. Xander and relationships with Scoobies was _definitely_ not of the good. Xander and a relationship with Giles? Apocalypse in the making.

So although Xander admitted, just between himself and his hand and the Vaseline, that Giles was hot, Giles was also Not Available.

It would have been better if he had never thought about it at all. Ever. _Ever_. Because... well, because when on some of those occasional theoretical nights with the Vaseline, he’d had occasional theoretical thoughts about Giles, his theoretical Giles who didn’t think Xander was an idiot wasn’t just Giles the librarian, he was Giles the swordsman, and yes, Xander had listened to Willow talking about her psychology class often enough to have a good idea of what _that_ meant. Or sometimes he was Giles with the axe, or Giles with the crossbow and the flaming brands. He was, in fact, the physical Giles, not the book guy. Xander could see the appeal of Giles the book guy, sorta; he’d seen Giles outside a book store, lusting through the window at some huge volume on some subject which made Xander's head ache just reading the title, and he’d recognised the expression which Xander saw on his own reflection when he stood outside the plant hire place and lusted after the big lathe in the display window, and somehow that made it easier to understand Giles. But the Giles who turned up occasionally in Xander's head (not like it was often because even in his fantasies Xander knew how improbable it was) wasn’t the librarian in tweed. It was the Big Guy with the big hands and the powerful shoulders and the strong legs and back.

It was, in fact, the same Giles who smiled at Xander and said ‘Well, you’re in charge; what do you want me to do?’ the result of which was that Xander was spending most of every day with a hard-on which he could have used to drill holes in the timbers they were manhandling into place.

This came as something of a surprise to him the first day, and actually it was a... well, frankly, it was a nuisance. He kept needing to adjust himself and he wasn’t doing _that_ where Giles could see. Not more than once. But it was just... it was just that it had been a long time since it had been just him and Giles doing anything, and it had been longer than he quite liked since he’d spent any time with a man he found attractive. It would, he told himself firmly, go away.

Yeah. Right. It was going away nicely until the temperature began to rise, and Giles followed Xander's example and rolled up his sleeves. Xander just unfastened his cuffs and shoved the sleeves up his arms; Giles, of course, was rather more particular, and folded the sleeves neatly over and over to free his forearms.

Xander had never realised that a man’s forearms could be erotic. He couldn’t take his eyes off... he had to take his eyes off Giles’ arms. He knew about inattention and construction. The inattentive construction worker tended to end up the bleeding construction worker or even the dead construction worker, and Xander had been to quite a lot of trouble to avoid being rendered dead by all sorts of weird creatures; he wasn’t intending to be rendered dead by his sex drive. Besides, it was dumb. It was _Giles_ , for fuck’s sake, and Giles with his sleeves rolled up, that was all. It wasn’t like it was Giles stark naked and saying ‘take me now, Xander.’

_More’s the pity_ , observed Xander's dick.

No, that was _so_ not going to happen. It was just Giles with his sleeves rolled up. It was _not_ breaking news that Giles had arms. Not.

He heard Giles sing the next day.

No reason why Giles shouldn’t sing, of course, and actually, Xander was quite pleased to hear him. It wasn’t performance stuff; they had found an abandoned radio at the back of a cupboard in one of the upstairs rooms, and to their surprise, when Xander plugged it in, it worked. He had left Giles putting undercoat on an interior door braced across a couple of piles of bricks in the yard, while he measured doorways and cut architrave to fit. When he came back out, Giles had found a rock station and was singing along softly. Xander stopped for a moment and watched him: the Big Guy had abandoned his overshirt, and the tee underneath was a fraction too tight. It stretched across Giles’ chest, damp with perspiration, and every time he moved, it clung and pulled and Xander could see the shift of muscle underneath. It was only a couple of heartbeats before Giles felt him watching and looked over his shoulder, smiling at Xander, still singing, but looking... looking happy, for once. Looking like he knew what he was doing and he wasn’t expecting an apocalypse to sneak up on him while he did it. Looking relaxed.

_Looking hot_ , pointed out Xander's dick. _Damp tee shirt, those arms, and he was getting a tan, and the hair on his arms was going all golden..._

No, it wasn’t breaking news that Giles had hair on his arms either. He had undercoat on his arms too, little white flecks of it. And _no_ , sweaty Giles with paint on his arms and no shirt was _not_ hot.

_Who was Xander trying to kid?_ asked Xander's dick, and continued to ask it on and off over the course of the day, and even after Xander had gone to bed. It was too hot to sleep. Xander was dead tired – he’d never gripe at a site boss again, this project management was way harder than he had ever thought – but apparently Xander's cock wasn’t. It was bright and lively and wanted to talk to Xander about sweaty shirtless Giles. Xander suggested a conversation about the pretty girl at the convenience store, the one who hadn’t been able to reach the noodles and who had smiled at Xander when he had fetched the packet down for her, but somehow every time he tried to talk to her, she looked over her shoulder and morphed into shirtless paint-flecked Giles.

Giles was not shirtless the next morning. Xander was grateful for it.

He was shirtless by lunchtime, and he was feeling the heat: after he and Xander had manoeuvred another door into the house and up three flights of stairs, and Giles, uncomplaining, had held the door in place while Xander had made the hinges fit right, Giles had wound a hand in the hem of his tee and yanked it up to wipe his face.

Giles had abs.

Not bodybuilder ripped abs, not a movie star six-pack. Giles, after all, wasn’t twenty-five and didn’t spend every waking hour in the gym, but going hand to hand with a sword against the things of the night was obviously well up with the Marine Corps’ Daily Dozen in terms of oh dear God, Xander was staring and Giles had one eyebrow raised and was staring back.

“Xander? Is something wrong? Is that not how you wanted it?” And he was looking doubtfully at the door, worried that Xander wanted something other than what Giles had given him.

Xander did.

It got worse. The temperature just went on rising, and as they backed and side-stepped to get the next door around the bend in the stairs, something caught on a nail and Xander heard the rip. They made it to the landing; Giles, half hidden behind the door slanted across the doorway, swore, although more, Xander thought, with irritation than with real anger. He leaned over the canted wooden edge in time to see Giles grab the edge of a massive tear in the thigh of his jeans – and rip the flapping cloth clean away.

“Pass me the Stanley knife?”

They’d established that on day one as what Giles called the utility knife; Xander passed it over, and watched as Giles converted his Goodwill jeans to cutoffs.

It was _not_ breaking news that Giles had legs... or hair on his thighs... or...

Xander told his dick to just shut the fuck _up._

And the top half of those cutoffs was the same as the top of the jeans had been. Xander hadn’t stared at Giles’ ass when the jeans had been jeans. He didn’t need to stare now that they were cutoffs.

Xander's dick pointed out that Giles had a very fine ass indeed.

Xander agreed, but thought it would be better if his dick didn’t mention it while Xander was trying to work. Or indeed walk. Unfortunately Xander's dick wasn’t amenable to this suggestion and it was purest luck that Xander made it to the end of the day without any of the doors hung upside down, or without cutting himself to the bone on any of the tools. It seemed that every time he looked up, Giles was bending over to pick something up, or reaching upwards so that there were a couple of inches of flesh showing between his waistband and his tee. When eventually Xander announced wearily that he’d had enough for the day, and started putting everything away, Giles helped him, and then peeled off the now sweat-sodden tee and began a series of stretches which Xander had seen him do before, when he’d been running.

Xander thought he might have whimpered.

Please God, it wouldn’t be so hot tomorrow and Giles might keep all his clothes on. He’d thought it was going to rain when he was clearing up, and had taken the time to throw a tarp over the timber, but the air had just got heavier and heavier, and hotter and hotter, and now he was lying on his bed, slick with sweat and trying not to think about Giles. It was definitely way too hot to sleep; it was even, he told his rebellious cock, too hot to jerk off to make himself sleep. And _anyway_ , even if he had wanted to jerk off – and he was too hot and too tired – he wouldn’t have done it while thinking about Giles. Definitely not.

He did sleep, eventually, and not well: his dreams were filled with doors which wouldn’t hang, tape measures which stretched and shrank, screwdrivers which bent and warped, and the clap of thunder woke him with a shriek. He heard the feet on the stairs almost instantly; Giles flung the door open and hurled himself into the room, sword in hand. Stark naked.

Xander – it couldn’t even be said that he screamed like a girl. It really was nothing more impressive than a startled squeal. It was the sword, and the naked Giles, and the... naked Giles, and the sword. And the _other_ sword. And the naked Giles. And the... good God, but that was impressive.

“Xander?” Giles was scanning the room, sword upraised... no, the _real_ sword... Xander gave himself a mental shake and then a physical one.

“Huh?”

“You, you shouted.”

“I... oh. I... I was asleep.”

There was another crash of thunder and Xander yelped again. Giles lowered the sword.

“Oh, I, I see. It woke you? I, I’m sorry, I thought it was... I’m not sure what I  thought it was. You, you shouted.”

“Yeah, I, I think it must... sorry. Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t apologise. It, it was very loud. I should have thought. I, I was half asleep myself.”

Oh. Giles slept in the raw? With a sword to hand?

Xander's dick sniggered at that picture, and added two more frames; Xander bit back a whimper and tried to think of something to say, other than _for the love of God, Giles, put on some pants!_ or _bring that thing over here and let’s see how much of it fits in my mouth._

“I, I, I’ll just go back to bed.”

Oh fuck, Giles’ rear view was just as good as the front. Giles did indeed have a very fine ass.

“Yeah.” His voice was tight and croaky. “Sorry to have disturbed you. Thanks for the rescue.”

Giles turned back to give him a look, and apparently understood that it wasn’t sarcasm, because he smiled briefly, gave a half salute with the sword and went.


	2. Classics of Anglo Saxon Literature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giles reads _Beowulf_.

Well. There went any possibility of Xander going back to sleep. Giles was... O.K., that opened up more questions than Xander was quite ready for, questions such as, what sort of blood pressure must Giles have to avoid fainting when he got a boner? And, how had Xander never really noticed before _just_ how impressive Giles’ body was for his age? Or indeed for any age? And, when Xander said that even thinking about a relationship with Giles would be an incredibly bad idea, who was he trying to kid? And, was it so hot in here because the weather had gone all unreasonable, or just because Giles had been in here wearing nothing but his skin?

And how cool was Giles, that he would leap down a flight of stairs, buck naked and armed with a sword, because he thought that Xander was in danger? That was... that was humbling. That stopped Xander thinking about sex, because he didn’t think that, if the situation had been reversed, he could have done it. He’d have stopped for pants. Any notion he had of getting his nerve up and making a play for Giles went phut because... because a man brave enough to launch a rescue attempt in the buff deserved better than a loser like Xander.

He lay down again. He _had_ to stop thinking about Giles and sex, because it was _so_ not going to happen. And not thinking about it was like any of the other not-thinking exercises: he could think of nothing else. He shut his eyes, and began to count, in a whisper. He was going to sleep, and he was _not_ thinking about Giles, naked or otherwise... he was _not_ thinking about Giles. He was not. He drifted... There, that was half an hour at least in which he hadn’t thought about Giles.

He was thinking about the heat and the odd flashes from outside the window, and the low grumble of thunder in the distance. As long as it stayed in the distance, that was O.K., although if the rain were to come closer and bring the temperature down, _without_ the thunder, that would be of the good too. The air was still and hot and thick and the flash and immediate clap of thunder directly overhead had him out of bed and running, stumbling on the flight of stairs and flinging open the door, and Giles this time had briefs on, _which was a disappointment_ which helped but he was half way across the room to meet Xander and Xander felt like the dorkiest of dorks _ever._

“Xander?”

He dragged in a breath and opened his mouth in the hope of saying something macho and adult and sensible, and the plain flat truth came out.

“I can’t stand thunder.”

“Oh! Oh. Come and sit down. I, I’m afraid it’s likely to hang about for a while yet, there’s absolutely no wind to move a storm on.”

Was that it? No judgment? He must have looked surprised, because Giles added comfortingly, “We’ve all got something we’re afraid of.”

Xander looked away. “My things are dorky. Clowns. Thunder. At least yours make some sense. Dead Slayers is something to...”

“If you have a moment tomorrow, do you think you could extract the spider which lives behind the shower riser? There is absolutely no possibility of me touching it.” 

Xander stared. “You’re scared of spiders?”

Giles nodded. “Always have been. And yes, I know all the arguments about the ratio between its body mass and mine, and I know that it can’t do me any real harm, and I know that if I leave it alone, it will leave me alone. But it’s there when I’m in the shower, and I don’t have my glasses on. I don’t think you people with 20/20 eyesight have the first idea of just how naked a man can feel when his glasses are on the other side of the bathroom and he doesn’t know where the spider went. Don’t go telling me that it’s dorky to be scared of thunder. I’ll see your thunder and raise you anything with an excessive number of legs. I dumped a girlfriend once because she used to leave her false eyelashes on the side of the bath and I thought... well, you can guess what I thought. I won’t kill them – it’s bad luck in England to kill a spider; is it the same here? – but I want them to be where I’m not.”

He turned away towards the bed, and yanked the covers into a heap at the top, before sitting down against them and gesturing courteously for Xander to join him. “It’s too hot to sleep; I was just reading ‘Beowulf’. Do you know it? No? It strikes me as the sort of story that you and Andrew would enjoy. Beowulf is the hero, and he fights a monster called Grendel, and then the monster’s mother which is never given a name, but which lives in a lake, and then a dragon, although he and the dragon kill each other.” He picked up his book.

“Geseah ðá on searwum     sigeéadig bil  
ealdsweord eotenisc    ecgum þýhtig  
wigena weorðmynd,” he read aloud. It fell into short phrases, and Xander felt as if he could nearly understand it, as if he might understand it if he heard it again. Giles looked over at him, and Xander sat down, leaning in his turn against the packed bedclothes.

“What did that mean?”

“‘Among the piles of weapons, he saw the sword which he could carry to victory, a sword of the giants from the elder days; its edges were vicious, enough to make a warrior smile. This fabulous thing was so huge that no other man would be fit to fight with it: it had been gloriously forged in a giant’s fire.’ That’s a very _very_ rough translation. Professor MacLaggan would have had my ears for it: she said the original was poetry and our translations ought to be poetry too.”

Xander wriggled down into the heap of bedclothes, disguising his start at another crack of thunder. “Go on. What’s he going to do with the sword?”

“You probably need to come in nearer the beginning.” He flipped back through the pages. “Well, Beowulf is our hero. He’s Swedish but he’s going to do something about Grendel the monster who has been attacking the hall of Hrothgar. Hrothgar is Danish. And the story is written in Old English and we don’t know who by, but there’s some suggestion that it was written specifically for performance – it’s for telling aloud, not for reading – in England. Suffolk. Anyway, what happens...”

It helped. Giles read some bits aloud, and once Xander found that he could translate it himself; other bits Giles translated, and most of it, he just glanced at the book to remind himself and then told to Xander as a story. Xander was so engrossed by the plot that he completely missed the storm coming closer, until there was a blinding flash of lightning, and Giles’ bedside light went out. Xander jumped – and the thunder roared directly overhead.

He couldn’t help himself; he flung himself at Giles, grabbing at the nearest shoulder and forcing his face into Giles’ throat. He heard the book hit the floor, and managed one heartbeat worth of humiliated panic before Giles’ arms closed around him hard and Giles’ calm voice directly in his ear said, “God, that made me jump. It must be right over us. I wonder what’s been hit? It’s as well you covered everything up before we came inside, don’t you think? That’s the rain on now.”

Xander made a small animal sound of terror as Giles shifted, and was instantly ashamed of it, but Giles was simply working down among the bedclothes, pulling Xander with him. “There, that’s better. It’s all right, Xander, I won't let go.” He sounded completely matter-of-fact, and it did actually help: Xander loosened his death-grip a fraction and said, his voice only shaking a little, “All the spiders you want. I’ll move them all outside. There won’t be a single one left where you could meet it.”

He felt Giles’ chest move with laughter, and the warm voice in his ear said, “It’s a deal.”

They lay in silence for a minute or so; the room was totally dark until the lightning illuminated it starkly and fleetingly, and Xander, anticipating the crash, twisted towards Giles, who made a small reassuring noise and smoothed a palm down his sweaty back. Xander fidgeted nervously again, and wriggled, and when the thunder came, he jerked closer, his thigh crossing Giles’ leg and...

Giles was hard.

The light came on; Giles was pulling back, looking mortified; Xander could feel his own mouth in an O of surprise; the lightning flashed twice and the light went out again.

The thunder rolled all around the house and Xander tried to think of something useful to say.

Giles got in ahead of him. “Xander, I really do apologise... you, you needn’t worry, I’m not, I don’t, it isn’t...” and gasped as Xander's body, apparently deciding that Xander's mind wasn’t helping any, simply took over, wrapping one arm around Giles’ neck, dragging him in for a kiss, and sending the other hand to explore that intriguing ridge. The lightning flashed again and Xander could see Giles, photo-negative harsh, eyes wild.

Giles was _hard_. And getting harder as Xander touched, pulling away and babbling as easily as Xander himself ever did, voice saying ‘no, Xander, no,’ and hips shifting forward to Xander's fingers, hips saying yes. Only the voice said ‘no!’ more desperately, and Xander knew about boys who didn’t listen to No and he didn’t want to be one, not even when it was obvious that Giles _did_ want to say yes; he dragged his fingers back.

The thunder crashed overhead again, and Xander cried out, reached for Giles, and froze, helplessly unable to decide. Another flash and rumble and he saw Giles, felt Giles gathering him in again, voice against his ear.

“It’s all right. It’s all right, Xander.”

That was enough; he buried his face against Giles’ chest, careful to keep his hips away. He wished that his pride could overcome his fear; if Giles so decidedly didn’t want him – and now Giles surely knew that Xander wanted Giles – he ought to go, but he couldn’t, he dared not, not while the sky was splitting overhead.

“Why won’t you let me?” Oh merciful God, his mouth was running without input from his brain again.

“I, I, you don’t like the thunder, I understand that. I wouldn’t ask you to, I’ll help if I can, I don’t need a quid pro quo.”

It took him a moment to make sense of that – and then he didn’t know whether to be more offended on his own behalf or on Giles’.

“I _know_ that! For fuck’s sake, Giles, I know you better than that! I’ve known you long enough to be sure that you wouldn’t ask to be paid in sex just for stopping me wig at a storm!” His voice trembled a bit; actually, he _was_ offended. “And you ought to know that I wouldn’t offer it either.”

There was a pause. “I do know that, of course,” acknowledged Giles, eventually. “I beg your pardon.”

“Then...” He let his hand drift down Giles’ chest towards his waist, but Giles trapped it with one of his own.

“Xander... I can’t. Not if it’s just a, a means of distracting yourself. An amusement.” His voice dropped away almost to nothing. “A one-off.”

He opened his mouth to argue, and then shut it again, allowing himself to listen to what Giles had said. To hear what Giles hadn’t said.

“And if it’s not? If it’s... Giles, I wouldn’t do _that_ to you either! I know I’m not, O.K., I’m not good with the relationship thing, but I don’t _deliberately_ set off looking for a one night stand!”

“You’ve never shown any interest in me before.”

“Like I was going to! You think I’m an idiot. You’ve never shown any interest in me either. I’ve thought about it plenty, specially these last three days, only I thought _you_ weren’t interested.” He hesitated, suddenly unsure again. “ _Are_ you interested?”

The silence was perhaps more telling than Giles realised. Giles could lie by omission – Buffy would vouch, rather bitterly, for that – but a direct, verbal, in-your-face fib? Not so much. His voice came haltingly. “I’m not interested in anything which would damage our friendship. If there’s... whatever thing there is between us...”

“I’ve definitely got a thing, Giles. Definitely. Maybe you have a thing too? ‘Cause if you do, we could _so_ have a thing. Could we have a thing?”

He _felt_ Giles’ surrender. He felt Giles’ chest shudder: Giles was laughing. Laughing at Xander, and not in a bad way. “Yes, Xander, I think we could have a thing.”

“Good. We’ll have a thing. And speaking of which, can I just say that _this_ thing between us is... actually, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on it ever since you bounded down the stairs making all Inigo Montoya. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on the rest of you ever since you started the world’s slowest striptease on Monday but...”

“Xander? This thing between us is going to go much better if you remember that I only rarely have the first idea what you’re talking about. Who or what is Inigo Montoya? And what striptease? I grant you that tonight, I, I, I...”

“Yeah, didn’t you just? Colour me impressed, on several scores. You’ve been undressing like a Victorian virgin, Giles.” In the flat dark, he’d got a hand to Giles’ face and was tracing the line of his forehead and jaw very gently; he felt Giles frown.

“I, I... what?”

“Monday you showed me your wrists.” Xander, getting brave in the absence of Giles being able to see him, tickled a finger down from Giles’ shoulder to his hand, and pulled it in to place a kiss on Giles’ wrist. “Amazingly sexy wrists you’ve got, Giles.”

“Um, thank you. I think.”

“Nobody ever admired your wrists before?”

“Not that I can recall,” agreed Giles, drily.

“Yeah. Well. Tuesday you got your overshirt off and I could see your elbows. And your throat. I wanted to lick your throat.”

“Don’t, ah, don’t let me stand in your way. I’m rather fond of having my throat licked.”

Xander licked it, and Giles, in the dark, shifted and made a strange humming sound.

“Wednesday, you did the tearing off the pants thing.”

“I never... oh, trousers. It wasn’t my fault. And I wasn’t indecent or anything, unless you’re going to say that I’m too old to wear shorts. I’ve seen you wearing shorter shorts than those. I won’t wear _very_ short shorts, they look ridiculous on a man my age.”

“Not even if I beg?”

Giles was laughing again. “I might be persuaded to negotiate. You have those green shorts and when you wear them I have to leave the room.”

“Yeah? I missed that, damn. But I saw your _knees_.” He liked feeling that he could make Giles laugh. Giles didn’t laugh half enough, specially not recently. “You don’t show your knees to just anybody, do you?”

“Certainly not,” agreed Giles primly. “In England you would have to marry me now.”

“Yeah, and then with the taking off the shirt and the stretches, and that was just...”

“So I’m a tart,” shrugged Giles. “I took off my shirt in a private yard in front of a man I’ve known for years. What’s your problem?”

“There is no problem. It is all entirely of the good, except that it had taken you three days to get as far as showing me your chest. Not that I haven’t seen your chest before, and actually, since at the time we didn’t have a thing, it might have been better if you hadn’t, but as stripteases go, it’s kinda slow, you know? At that rate it woulda taken you about a month, I reckon, to get totally naked, specially since you kept putting everything _on_ again.”

“Well, I’m sorry if you were disappointed, but I didn’t know you were watching.”

The lightning flashed again and Xander jumped; Giles tightened his grip reflexively. They waited, and the thunder rolled around them, before Xander spoke again.

“Yeah, well, I had just got accustomed to the notion that naked Giles was of the good, and I was already aware that naked Giles wasn’t on the cards for little Xander, and then something outside went bang and you burst through my door in the altogether waving a sword. That shoulda been kinda scary, only, quite frankly, my man, I was way too impressed to be scared. This thing between us – I mean, this _Thing_ , between us...”

Giles gasped.

“And actually, the fact that you had come to rescue me at all...”

“I felt a right plonker,” said Giles hoarsely. “Crashing in starkers and armed with a sword on somebody who didn't need any rescuing... oh good lord, do that again.”

“This? No, you can colour me all sorts of impressed, partly at the rescue and largely, and that’s absolutely the right word, at the... at this Thing between us. If I’d known about this earlier I’d, I’d, I dunno what I’da done.”

“I don’t exactly advertise it.”

“Yeah, and why is that? I’da thought it would be a natural crowd pleaser. I mean, I’m loving being here and having my hands on it...”

“ _I’m_ loving you having your hands on it, Xander.”

“But I’m a bit suspicious that I’m not having to fight off other contenders with a stick.”

The light came on again; Giles threw an arm across his eyes and Xander blinked heavily.

“It’s a mixed blessing. Puts some people off. Makes them nervous.”

“Right. Nervous I can see. Nervous, actually, I can feel, because although I _have_ done this sort of thing before, I’m not exactly... Not ever with... Giles, that is _big_.”

Giles’ face closed up.

“I’m not changing my mind,” Xander assured him hastily, amazed by how easily he could read Giles’ expression. “I’m just a little... can we go slow? I mean, I’m sure it _will_ fit, I just think I may need to work up to it. Not done that recently, Giles, been sorta hanging with the girls where I’m the one who’s... hanging.”

“You, you _want_ to... you want _me_ to...?”

Xander's turn to frown. “You weren’t expecting that?”

Giles wrinkled his nose. “I... as a general rule, I’ve ended up... it’s been the other way round. People get put off.” He tipped his head. “Actually, it’s more of a man thing. Men are jealous of it but they don’t want me to... Women aren’t as impressed by it as all that. In my experience, it’s like a man looking at a blonde and deciding, in the absence of any evidence, that she must be stupid. A woman tends to look at that and decide that I’ll be selfish in bed. I don’t _think_ I am. But people get put off.”

“Oh. _So_ not put off here. I mean if you prefer the other way, I’m cool with that too, but just... just so we understand each other, I would _like_ some of that. I would like _all_ of it, but I’ll need to go into training. Not if you don’t like to...”

Suddenly he was flat on his back, Giles leaning over him, face alight. “Oh, I like to. I really like to. I just don’t often meet somebody else who wants me to. I can wait, Xander. In fact, we’ll have to wait, because curiously, I wasn’t expecting to get a nubile young man into my bed, and I am distressingly underprovided with the necessary supplies. Unless you have...?”

Xander shook his head sadly. “Sorry, Big Guy, and I am never going to be able to call you that again without blushing. Wasn’t expecting to get any either.” He gave a startled squeak as the thunder rolled again and Giles began to squirm down his body.

“We’ll just have to improvise. And since you don’t like the current weather conditions, I think you need to be distracted. Stop thinking about the weather and think about this.”

Thinking at all, _so_ not an option. Except... “You said you weren’t willing to be a distraction!” The end of the sentence was pitched a good octave higher than the start.

Giles looked up, unshaven chin scraping against Xander's balls. “I said I wasn’t willing to be _just_ a distraction.”

“Oh. O.K., that’s all good then. Distract away. I am definitely in favour of distraction. And let me tell you that if this is your way of stopping me being scared of thunder, I need to remind you that I’m scared of clowns. Also, uh, toast. And newspapers. Tennis matches. I’m terrified of tea. Slayers, I’m scared of Slayers. Power tools! I’m scared of power tools and I have to work with them all the time, I’ll need to be distracted every day and possibly more than once a day, and oh hell, the one who’s being selfish in bed is me, isn’t it, and are you laughing at me because that feels really, really odd?”

“Then I suggest you stop talking. You may scream if you think it necessary, or desirable.”

Well, not scream, exactly. A sort of strangled wail, because _damn_ but Giles was good at that. And distracting: that _might_ have been thunder, or possibly an earthquake – was it true then, that thing about the earth moving? – or Grendel’s mother arriving out of the lake, but you know what? Xander didn’t care just as long as Giles would do that again, real soon. The next time Xander was capable of an erection, which, O.K., might not be for a year or two.

He lay there for five minutes, giving a promising impression of a landed fish, and waiting for the world to settle back into its usual orientation, before managing to close his mouth and open his eyes. Giles was propped on one elbow, watching him... the only word which came to mind was ‘smugly’. O.K., Giles was entitled to look smug.

He took a shuddering breath. Some sort of... there was a word for it. Doing as you would be done by, or in this case, as Giles already had. Be done by as you did. Reciprocation, that was it. _Not_ being selfish in bed. The thing between them... was, when he rolled over, still between them, and something ought to be done about it.

He was just thinking about what precisely _something_ could be, when the there was another eye-watering flash and drumroll, and the light went out again; he shivered against Giles’ comforting palm, and got a grip of himself.

Then he got a grip of Giles.

“I’m going to return the favour,” he said, with only a very little quiver in his voice, “but I don’t think it would be smart to do it now. The thunder? Makes me jump, and something which would be likely to make me snap my teeth, _so_ not a good idea when I’ve got my mouth on anything you value. But I _am_ going to do that, some time real soon, O.K.? Meanwhile, uh, what else do you like?”

Giles, it appeared, liked to kiss, liked to rub himself against Xander, liked to explore Xander's body with mouth and fingers, liked to work his cock between Xander's thighs and thrust. Giles liked to have his neck and ears kissed and licked and actually bitten quite hard – that was odd, for a Watcher, or Xander thought it was... maybe it wasn’t? Giles liked – really liked – when Xander pushed him onto his back and wrapped a hand around him, experimenting to find how slow, or fast, or loosely, or tightly he had to rub to make Giles’ eyes close and his mouth open, to make his shoulders relax and his thighs tense, to make him hum with pleasure and hold onto Xander and eventually arch and spill and collapse as bonelessly as Xander had done.

Xander didn’t think either of them had _quite_ been asleep – but he at least hadn’t _quite_ been awake either. He woke when the light came on again and Giles shifted, his arm across Xander's chest, his thigh across Xander's hips, his weight, or so it felt, on Xander's bladder. He worked himself free, and Giles sighed, and rolled into the gap and murmured questioningly.

“Xan? Don’ go...”

“Only going to the bathroom. Back in a minute.”

Giles made a breathy sound of objection, almost a whine, and Xander grinned. Not like Giles to sound other than perfectly in control and Xander liked it. He slipped across the landing to the bathroom, and a minute later, turned to inspect the gap behind the shower riser.

“Giles?”

Giles opened his eyes.

“Can you open the window?”

Giles came up onto one elbow, blinking foolishly. “Huh?”

“The window?” Xander had a tooth glass in one hand and was holding Giles’ washcloth across the top of it with the other. “I’ve got the Itsy Bitsy Spider here, ready to go down the waterspout with the rain.” It was indeed raining, hard.

“The... Oh, Incy Wincey Spider. From the bathroom?” Giles fell awkwardly out of bed and staggered across to open the window; Xander tipped the spider neatly out onto the sill and closed the window on the night.

“Your bathroom is free of spiders. You can take your spectacles off without fear of attack by multi-legged arachnids.”

“My hero,” said Giles, dryly, climbing back into bed. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Storm’s not gone yet.”

Giles lifted the sheet and made room. “Come to bed, then.”

“And you’ll save me from the thunder?”

“We’ll look after each other.”

Of course, thought Xander, rocking back into the curl of Giles’ body; of course they would. They always had.


End file.
